


Balance, My soul.

by Pinlie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: BalancerAU, WIP, but comments are love, but never fear, but no guarantees on when i'll be updating, cause otherwise i'd probably be unable to sleep at night, my stories end happily, not crack, sorry - Freeform, surprisingly there is a bit of angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinlie/pseuds/Pinlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>BalancerAU</p><p>Sherlock is OverBalanced<br/>John is a secret Balancer.<br/>Not crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"You aren't evil," they all claimed when it first started to show, "just… **Over** Balanced." Their carefully constructed non-insults disgusted Sherlock. Why wouldn't they just come out and say it for what it was?

"It's not your fault," they told him. "You aren't to blame," they assured. But Sherlock saw them glaring; he heard their whispered accusations and cruel words when they thought he wasn't around. He knew what they thought of him. They might smile and say they were trying to help, but they lied. He couldn't trust them- not one of them was sincere, not one of them had his welfare in mind. Even his own brother only wanted him to get help so he wouldn't get in trouble with Mummy or, worse, embarrass him.

They tried to help him, he'd give them that. They took him to get Balanced as often as the laws allowed it (and even a bit more than that due to Mycroft's influence.) It just wasn't enough. He **Over** Balanced again much, much too fast and there were so few Balancers in the world that even with all of Mycroft's power he couldn't get Sherlock all the help he needed.

So Sherlock withdrew. He kept himself self-contained. He didn't allow his emotions to show. (And all those idiots who thought he had none- didn't they know that was impossible? Even sociopaths felt something- just not like how normal people did. And he wasn't even a sociopath; he was just hurt and scared and closed off. Couldn't they tell? Couldn't their funny little brains see that all he needed was for someone to truly care? Obviously not. People were just  _so stupid_ and he couldn't stand it sometimes, so he'd try to get away from them but that didn't help. Then he was even more lonely and more hurt and needy and he hated it.)

Years went by. He tried everything. For a time, drugs seemed to help. But then he began to lose control (did he ever have any to begin with?) and people started to notice. It took them long enough; it's not like the drugs were slowly killing him or anything- oh wait, yes they were. (Idiots.) Then they became concerned. What would Lestrade do without his help- but conversely, what would happen if his bosses found out they were employing a druggie? Something had to be done. And Mycroft- god, that had been a nightmare. Sherlock had never seen Mycroft so angry- so undignified and flustered. He threw a fit in the hospital room, practically in the middle of public. Normally Mycroft would call it shameful- showing emotions (weaknesses) like that. The hypocrite.

From there he was forced to go through rehabilitation (painful, humiliating, soul-sucking) and then he was clean. Back on cases, the only thing that made him feel like he was doing any good in the world. The only time he felt like he was worth something, worth keeping alive. That joy of solving a puzzle, the pure happiness of figuring out a mystery that he'd had since he was young was now backed by the reassuring notion that he wasn't all bad. He couldn't be, not when he was helping- right?

He wasn't evil… just… **Over** Balanced. All he needed was something to Balance him out. (Anything.... Anyone?)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm doing some quick brush ups to this chapter before I update it. 
> 
> \--John's perspective--

Captain John Watson, M.D., of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers was over-qualified on paper. But what the paper work never said- what no one realized- was that in addition to his military service and his doctorate degree in medicine, he was also a Balancer. Not many people knew about this, (actually, only three people: himself, Harry, and his mum. His da had known too, but he was dead now.) There were reasons no one else ever guessed.

For one, he didn't look like most Balancers. He dressed in soft, homely jumpers and cheap, button-up shirts. His blonde (or was it light brown? greying?) hair and height hardly stood out. And he walked with a limp, leaning almost resentfully against a utilitarian cane as he ambled along, strong and steady. He was nothing like most Balancers- dressed in designer clothing, rich, beautiful,picture-perfect. But where he differed most from the average Balancer was his eyes. Balancers are beautiful to look at, envied by many for their rich lifestyle and appearance. But the one thing that gave people pause was their eyes- cold and dull and empty and always, always grey in color. John's eyes were different- they could be cold, sure. But they changed color nearly daily, from deep blue to ice to a seafoam, almost green color, reflecting his state of mind. They shifted constantly- but were rarely grey. Never lifeless.          

 Being a secret Balancer was all good and well -what no one knew couldn't harm them- but that wasn't all he'd been back then. He'd been an **Over** Balanced Balancer and that was just straight-up dangerous. He hadn't meant to **Over** Balance but there had just been so much of it- so much awful, all-consuming STUFF and he just had to try to help. He was one man though, just one single Balancer, amidst all of it and he couldn't contain that much, not for long. God knows he tried. It was killing him, and he knew it, couldn't help it. Couldn't help anyone, it felt like. Useless, that was him. It got so bad that he barely registered human weapons as threats anymore. He was in the middle of a bloody BATTLEFIELD, (in every sense of the word), but he couldn't fight two wars at once. He gave his all to the wrong battle, the hopeless, endless fight, (someone had to! ) and he lost, as inevitable as a falling rain drop inches from wet pavement. Nearly as quiet too- the sniper's gun had a silencer and he was too busy mentally Balancing Bill Murray where he'd been _Un_ Balanced while tending to another man's gut wound. To busy to use the naturally heightened senses of a Balancer to notice the bullet as it came rocketing toward him until the last second. He jerked his heart out of the bullet's trajectory, just barely. But as he lay there in what should have been a pool of his own blood -but wasn't because the hot sand and the hot sun burned away any trace of liquid from existence within seconds- he wasn't sure it actually mattered. He could feel blood flowing out and it crowding in- too much of it, too fast. He was dying-

And then he wasn't. Then he was back in England and it was like his surroundings were trying to make up for the lack of grey in his eyes. Boring beige and drab, dull-minded grey everywhere he looked. He walked the streets of London, looking for an escape from his tiny torture chamber of a bedsit, but with every step he felt himself teeter on the edge of collapsing. He was running out of money and patience and now, after being seen to by the country's registered Balancer, now he was _Un_ Balanced. The Balancer had taken far too much, (an easy mistake, he wasn't too know; Balancers need more of it than normal people can stand) and now he was dying all over again, albeit much, much more slowly.

He needed someone to Balance, to take it away from. He tried to discreetly Balance a few people just a little bit but Balancing wasn't an entirely discreet act and he really, really couldn't afford discovery.  That would be very Not Good. Not to mention, he wasn't immoral; stealing too much of it from people who needed it would _Un_ Balance them too.

He needed people to Balance, and soon, because he was getting tired of dying- having no control over anything rubbed him entirely the wrong way. (Taking things into his own hands hadn't just occurred to him- it haunted his every thought.) He couldn't hurt someone by _Un_ Balancing him or her, but he also couldn't go on like this... somedays it seemed a quicker fix to just end it all, but John was stronger than that. His spirit wouldn't give up that easily. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for eye colors of John Watson: http://areyouwearinganypanties.tumblr.com/post/23734250350/martin-freemans-eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Usually I don't continue the other ideas unless people want me to, so if you'd like this to be continued please tell me and I will:) Comments are love and happiness, please comment! (Whether it's about mistakes, grammar, what you like, dislike, suggestions, plot ideas, style, etc.) All feedback is appreciated! :D Thanks!


End file.
